


Never Look Right at the Sun

by that_dark_haired_perv



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Sweet Devil, Attraction, Devil!Arthur, Devil!England, Human AU, M/M, Pining, Sweet Devil, Sweet Devil AU, Sweet Devil England - Freeform, Sweet Devil!AU, Sweet Devil!England, USUK - Freeform, human!AU, human!Alfred, human!America
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_dark_haired_perv/pseuds/that_dark_haired_perv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur found himself absolutely and thoroughly smitten, and he found out he really, really didn’t mind it as much as he should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Look Right at the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aalfredfjones](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aalfredfjones).



> This is my entry for the usuksummerfestival held by usuknetwork on tumblr! This fill is for aalfredfjones, the prompt I took being: “ANYTHING sweet devil. Like both of them are sweet devils, one’s an angel and one’s a demon, anything.” 
> 
> This was originally posted on my tumblr, the URL of the work being: http://that-dark-haired-perv(.)tumblr(.)com/post/123547354428/never-look-right-at-the-sun (erase the brackets)
> 
> Sorry in advance for all and any mistakes!

He hated it.

_Loathed_  it.

He hated how he would use words (ones often used by five year old girls) like _sparkling_ and _glowing_ to describe someone. A human, nonetheless. Because that’s ridiculous.

And then he took one look at the blond again. His wide, bright blue eyes sparkling with the side of his eyes crinkling as his mouth curled up into a grin.

Arthur found himself absolutely and thoroughly smitten, and he found out he really, really didn’t mind it as much as he should have.

The first time Arthur saw him, Arthur was floating about.

He placed his hands behind his head, crossing his legs together whilst his eyes roamed around the town. His wings were moving by slowly, following the movements of the wind. His tail was flicking around his back, his tongue peeking out the corners of his mouth to lick his lips.

He was searching for a prey, just because.

Being only a few metres above the ground, he could see everything clearly.

He could see the kid around the corner, crying because his ice cream fell down to the ground. There were older children looming over him, laughing at him for being a crybaby. There were old ladies chatting with each other, there were men rushing to buildings whilst looking at their watches, women in their heels with shopping bag hanging over them, and then there was a teen with blue eyes and blond hair and broad shoulders and strong legs and a nice arse and fuck.

The first time Arthur saw him, he felt like something slammed the back of his guts. His eyes widened. His mouth was opened. He blinked once, twice, thrice— he’d lost count, actually— not believing what he saw.

Right below him, _there_ — No, a little bit to the right, yes,  _there_ — stood the brightest thing on Earth and below, shining and beaming and grinning all over the place. It nearly hurt just to see him with his very own eyes.

He was like the Sun, overflowing with warmth and radiating happiness. His arms were flailing. Up and down and around, as if sweeping and pushing away all the problems in the world. Even Arthur, a demon, a creature of darkness, can’t help but be drawn into the light. And it irks him. Toothy grins and crinkling smiles should never have such an appeal to him.

His hair looked like it was weaved out of gold, his eyes blue as if the sky itself lent its colour to him. His skin was honey-tanned, highlighting the muscles not covered by pieces of clothing.

Arthur hated himself for for even thinking of such things. He slapped himself and gritted his teeth, which resulted in him losing his focus. Which then resulted in his wings stopping their flapping.

The first time Arthur saw him, he fell.

His wings stopped flapping and he started falling. It was a disaster— his face nearly coming into contact with the cement on the road. His wings were spread upwards, his tail whipping around it uselessly.

Devils can’t be seen by day, but can be seen at night. He was thankful of the fact that nobody could see him right then.

He held his breath and closed his eyes, waiting to be plummeted into the ground. When he opened his eyes again, his face was centimetres away from the land in front of him, and he could see the blue-eyed blond from the corners of his eyes.

Everything seemed to slow down at that exact moment, and when he looked up, he could see the blue of the sky reflected through the blond’s eyes, his hair shining in sunlight. Arthur’s hand was  _this_  close to his face,  _this_  close. But then he looked down, his hands swinging, and Arthur realised once again that he was falling, falling to the ground.

He almost screamed.

Gladly, he managed to stop himself and flapped his wings, fast, heaving himself up. He shrugged off the imaginary dust from his shoulders, coughing modestly.

He then flew away with a flushed face and a beating heart, embarrassment rushing through him. He buried himself inside of a rubbish bin and hoped that he would be able to jus drop dead all ready.

After the incident, Arthur was more careful.

When going on Earth, he tried not to look around for sparkling blue-eyed blonds. But his head whipping around and his eyes searching through the city was enough to tell that he was failing.

He kept telling himself that it was impossible not to try see him, though that hardly made him feel better.

Even the simplest of his actions made Arthur feel uncomfortable. Like the way he would bite his lips when he wasn’t sure of what to say, or when his lips would form a pout when he didn’t get what he wanted.

Sometimes, he would tap his feet to the ground mindlessly, whistling. Cheeks puffing and lips curling up into a smile when he managed to whistle out a tune.

Other times, the boy would look around here and there. It made his unruly hair, especially that one strand that stood out from the rest, bob around carelessly. It was adorable. Arthur had to bang his head to the nearest wall to feel manly again.

When he was bored, he would tap his fingers on his friend’s shoulder, grinning brightly when they turnt to look at him.

There was also the way he would hold his water bottle close to his face sometimes, and when someone called up to him, he would turn around with a wide grin (ones that shows teeth) and hiss in pain when his teeth collided with the bottle.

Most of the time, when he was pacing around a bit too excitedly, his glasses would slip a bit off from his nose, and in a nervous fluster, he would hurriedly push it back up. The way his eyes looked without his glasses in front of it and the way his cheeks redden in embarrassment had Arthur shuddering violently. His heart almost stopped beating.

There was also one time, when he heard a loud, piercing noise as he was floating above a tree.

“I’M A LITTLE TEAPOT, STRONG AND TOUGH! I’M A LITTLE TEAPOT GO SEE ME TWIRL ABOUT!”

He had been startled, and his head was immediately whipped to the source of the sound. He hadn’t been expecting to see a blond head, his strand of hair bobbing around as he beamed and hopped, twirling around.

Arthur laughed out loud, clutching his stomach. Then, he snorted. And he was pretty sure it was milk that was coming out of his nose.

Sometimes, Arthur thought about how easy it would have been if Arthur was able to hurt the boy— squeeze him out of breath and torture him and all that. But he can’t— he just can’t, and it is physically hurting him.

In short, the boy nearly killed him.

However, he couldn’t help but want to be drawn into pools of blue, and he smacked himself for wanting it.

Arthur had once tried— and succeeded— in talking to the boy. Though not in his devil form, of course. He changed his hair colour and toned down the brightness of his eyes, his tail and wings flicked away.

The conversation had been short, the American introducing himself (“Alfred F.  Jones, at your service!”- in which Arthur realised he actually had a name for the face, and he nearly squealed) and exclaiming things here and there.

“Wait, are those caterpillars on your forehead?”

“Please tell me you used contacts, please, omg.” (Alfred touched his eyelids whilst saying this; Arthur nearly fainted.)

“Why the fuck are you so pale, dude? Chill.”

“I bet you’re like, a thousand years old or something.” (Which wasn’t exactly untrue, but nobody needed to know that.)

After that, Arthur stomped away, feigning anger. He thought it was the logical thing to do— a thing humans would do in that situation.

It was definitely not because he didn’t want to begin doing something embarrassing like reaching up to ruffle Alfred’s hair, or something,  _no_.

He couldn’t deny that seeing Alfred’s mannerisms up close: lip-biting and boisterous laugh, was enough to make his heart shudder. Despite all that, despite all the insults(?) thrown at him, which should have been enough to annoy him to no end, seeing the American’s blue, blue eyes, and hearing his energetic voice up close, Arthur found himself falling once again.

This was god’s punishment for him, he was sure. Because this is the only seemingly “logical” way of seeing it.

After actually meeting Alfred, Arthur can’t seem to get him out of his mind. The American’s laugh rang in Arthur’s ears when he was supposed to sleep at night. It kept him awake. The image of Alfred’s eyes shut and his mouth opened to form a laugh stamped to the back of his eyes.

He was sick of it, and it annoyed him to no end. He could try sleeping, but then he would dream of sky-blues and red cheeks, sometimes accompanied with moans and groans and pleas for more. He would wake up from those red-faced and panting, biting his lips in disgust of himself.

Everyday, every single day, he blamed himself for looking down that day. Blamed himself for going to the human world every single day.

One night, Arthur went down to the human’s world again. Which wasn’t strange on it’s own— it was the fact that he actually knew where he was going, and it was at night.

His heart was thumping loudly in his ears, blood rushing to his face. And then he spotted the house. 

He stepped into the room by the window, which was left opened. It wasn’t surprising to him at the least. The kid was a walking nightmare. He didn’t pay attention and was careless and overally _clumsy_.

Honestly. He fell into a fountain trying to chase birds one time, and accidentally pulled down that one person’s trousers.

Arthur could make out a bed straight in from of the window (the window was huge— two aduts could practically stand there side by side with their hands on the side of their hips, it’s shape is square), and he moved to land on it, sitting at the edge of the window. The chilly night air was blowing into the curtains, and Arthur shifted his hands to hold the curtains still, just so they won’t hit him in the face.

The view inside wasn’t exactly visible at first, sans the bed he was able to see, but, as the moonlight shone into the room, Arthur could see a figure of a blond forming a lump on top of the bed. Arthur could swear that the boy was glowing.

And then he was mad again— he wasn’t even sure what he was mad at anymore, he was just really, really mad— and then he began to hum a soft (though solid) incantation under his breath before he could think about it. It turnt out to be more like a song or a hum rather than an incantation, though.

Arthur didn’t realise it when white sheets were pushed over and there was no longer a warm glow and a lump inside of the blanket.

And then there were footsteps.

Arthur still didn’t notice.

To be fair, Arthur wasn’t exactly looking straight at the bed, but more to the view outside of the window, but that isn’t much of a reason.

Arthur still didn’t notice anything, until there was a warm breath ghosting over him, and there was a trembling hand on his shoulder. Arthur jumped up, startled by the sudden presence beside him. Before he knew it, blue eyes were on him, opened wide, curious.

Arthur just wanted to disappear right then.

“Are you a ghost?”

Arthur almost kicked him.

There was a tense air around them, and it felt as if the blond’s blue eyes were boring into Arthur. Arthur felt trapped, felt suffocated.

And then Alfred opened his mouth again.

“Hah, who am I kidding? Ghosts don’t have red hair?” And then he was leaning in to touch Arthur’s hair and Arthur wanted to scream at him. “Did you die it with actual-“ A yawn. “-blood? It’s so fucking red.”

With a surprised cry and a flip of his wings, Arthur flew.

When he looked back—though he has no reason to, he has no reason for turning around. So, why? Why the _fuck_ did he do it?— He was met by the blond tilting his head to the side, eyebrows wrinkling out of confusion. It was the epitome of cuteness.

Arthur nearly died.

Stupid americans and their stupidly bright smile and their bright blue eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please feel free to leave some comments! I would really appreciate it!


End file.
